


everyday magic (the next tornado home remix)

by Aenaria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Vacation, a quiet little moment, littledust, road trip stories, slice of life ficlet, written for the FemmeRemix Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With every mile they drive, she feels the layers upon layers that she cloaks herself in for her job slipping away, fading into nothing with each spin of the rental car's tires.  And once all those layers are gone, who exactly is Natasha Romanoff? </p>
<p>She's still trying to figure that out, and these quiet little moments in the middle of nowhere, with Clint by her side, just may help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everyday magic (the next tornado home remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the next tornado home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/484765) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust). 



> The remix of ‘the next tornado home’, for littledust and the FemmeRemix Challenge. This is all theladyscribe's fault, by the way. I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. ;) This isn't my usual pairing, but Natasha is a fascinating character to write, and I hope that she comes across well on the page.
> 
> Littledust, thank you for letting me play in your universe for a little while - I hope I did the story and your interpretations of the characters justice!

The sun’s setting behind them as they drive, a non-descript car on a non-descript Midwestern road.  The sun turns the fields around the road to gilded seas, however, waving idly by beneath a sky that turns a deeper, darker blue as they head eastward.  With every mile they drive, Natasha feels the layers upon layers that she cloaks herself in for her job slipping away, fading into nothing with each spin of the tires.  As it is, she’s not sure what her job is these days.  SHIELD is a steaming pile of rubble in the middle of the Potomac, and all of her covers are lying at the bottom of the river with it.

 

Once all that is gone, who is Natasha Romanoff?  She’s not sure.

 

She glances over at Clint, fast asleep in the passenger’s seat with the soldier’s skill of being able to catch a few winks almost anywhere.  This little vacation had been his idea: to rent a car and take the long way back from the latest mission that’s left him with bruised ribs and her with a stiff neck that’s almost worked its way loose again.  “You’re cracking, Nat,” he’d said to her once the dust had settled and their new team (not just a team, but the Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, as Tony liked to call them) was cleaning up in the aftermath.  “Maybe they don’t see it, but they haven’t worked with you as long as I have.”

 

He breathes steadily next to her, deep inhales and exhales against the cool glass of the window, leaving fine spiderwebs of mist there that fade almost instantly after.  Natasha reaches out to adjust the air conditioner, raising the temperature just slightly.  Then she lowers her window, the fresh evening air slipping inside, smelling of fields and farms and all sorts of things that are entirely unlike anything Natalia Alianovna Romanova had been raised with.

 

It’s cleansing, and she can feel more of the superspy falling to the wayside as they move forward.

 

The fields give way to smaller clusters of homes, lights winking at the growing darkness from little windows.  Then comes the occasional convenience store and gas station, a larger truck stop, and a couple of bars.  Natasha pulls into the lot of the first motel she sees, a long and low building with a small cluster of cars in the lot.  It’s as non-descript as the rental is, and exactly the sort of place they prefer to stay at.

 

“What’s going on?” Clint mumbles as she cuts the engine. 

 

“Time to stop for the night.”  The door to the rental creaks as she opens it, a gust of warm air invading the cool interior of the car.  The sun’s fading fast, but the heat still lingers along the roads.  “Might as well relax.  That’s the point of a vacation, isn’t it?”

 

Clint stretches, his neck cracking once, sharply, and he sighs with relief.  “The best part of it.”  He opens his own door and steps out, twisting carefully from side to side until Nat can almost see his spine straighten up.  “You want to check in, I’ll get us some food?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Nat watches as Clint all but saunters down the sidewalk, heading towards the greasy spoon they’d passed a couple of lots back from the motel.  It’s all too easy for him to look like he fits in, like he’d never left in this corner of the world, just some guy off to meet his date at the local diner.  And while she doesn’t envy him, not really, she can’t help but admire the lack of artifice she sees in him at this moment.

 

Natasha’s still working on discovering that within herself.  Some days, she’s not even sure it exists, that she’s not just a collection of faces and personalities and skins that she puts on as needed.  But right here, right now, all she has to be is a woman getting a hotel room for the night.  She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, letting the breeze play around in the small tendrils that the elastic can’t quite hold, and another small part of the spy self falls away in the process.  

 

Check in is done in a matter of minutes, the room secured thanks to a license and credit card that have her face on them, but most certainly not her name (it’s vacation, and while their teammates are well meaning she wouldn’t put it past them to check on their absent members out of concern).  The room itself is simple, serviceable: queen sized bed with a cover that’s about twenty years out of date and the curtains to match, table and chairs, television bolted to the wall, and a clothes rack.  It could be any hotel room, just about anywhere in the country, and it makes Natasha feel even more at ease.  Even so, she dumps their bags on the table, and heads back outside to wait for Clint.  

 

She settles herself down on the low curb that separates the rooms from the gravel parking lot, and watches the road in silence.  Most of the cars that pass by turn into the bar across the street, the one that looks like it’s been there since time immemorial, with the greatest hits of the 1970s echoing up from the back patio.  As run down as the building looks, it’s got a cheery air about it, from the ragged, potted palm trees that curve over the front porch, to the garish neon signs in the front windows that blare messages like “Be Here Now!” and “Everyday Magic Inside!”  Natasha’s not quite sure of the meanings behind the signs, maybe they’re some of those distinctly heartland of America things that she still doesn’t understand even after so many years here, but there’s something about them that makes her smile.

 

Her head tilts up, and she takes in the stars that are beginning to make themselves known in the expansive, darkening sky above.  With a single, deep exhale, she imagines that one more bit of artifice slips out of her and twists its way into nothingness, getting lost in the atmosphere.

 

Finally, she feels all right.  She may not have all the answers, about what’s going on in their world and especially within herself, but for right now, in this small, everyday moment, it doesn’t matter.

 

Right now, she’s watching the sidewalk as Clint makes his way back to her.  He lifts up the plastic bag, laden down with all sorts of goodies for them, and Natasha just shakes her head, a grin spreading across her lips.  “Let me guess,” she calls out as he gets closer.  “A heart attack on a plate?”

 

Clint just smirks, sitting down next to her on the curb and stealing a quick kiss.  “Two blue plate specials: cheeseburgers, curly fries, and the finest chocolate milkshakes in ten counties.”

 

The summer breeze whirls around them as they eat on the ground in front of their hotel room, mostly silent.  But every now and again a snippet of a phrase or a breathless little giggle escapes, only to be swept up by the wind and scattered across the night sky.


End file.
